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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years

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Is It Really THAT Bad?

Cats has been a divisive show ever since it opened in 1981. Some people hate it for being a plotless spectacle that focuses more on the visuals than on music and story, while others love it for those same reasons, as well as for being utterly campy and fun. I’m firmly in the latter category, to the point I can’t really comprehend the opposition to the film. Stuff like the jab at this film in The Critic or the mockery of it in Hey Arnold just seem weird to me; what is it about this fun, silly musical about cats that makes people’s blood boil so much?

Perhaps all these people saw into the future where the film was released.

Cats had a long, troubled history getting from stage to screen. In the 90s, Amblimation was set to make an animated version of the movie, set during the Blitz of WWII. Unfortunately, the inability of writers to find a way to turn this episodic showcase of random singing cats into a cohesive narrative combined with the failure of Amblimations films caused the project to dissolve, leaving behind nothing but some really cool concept art.

But see, this perfectly demonstrates the problem with adapting Cats: the musical is a spectacle, a showcase, it’s all about the dancing, costumes, and the songs. It doesn’t have a story to speak of, instead contenting itself with showing us a bunch of different cats and having them sing about themselves for a bit before moving on to the next cat. Sure, there’s a bit of continuity and whatnot, but this really isn’t the sort of show that’s trying to deliver a deep narrative. It just wants you to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.

No one told any of this to Tom Hooper, apparently. This director of the grounded, gritty, realistic adaptation of Les Mis was tapped to utilize this same style in a musical about magical singing cats, all while not even knowing what catnip is or how animation works. Hooper was apparently constantly butting heads with the VFX team due to his lack of understanding of how animating works. He tried to get the team to watch videos of cats performaing the stuff he wanted and forced them to give 90 hour work weeks, cementing Tom Hooprt as one of the biggest douchebags imaginable. On top of all this, the guy tried to weave this plotless showcase of felines into a cohesive narrative, and tapped a bunch of talent of various degrees of questionability to play parts. And what was the result?

An absolute disaster. The film was savaged by critics, with most positives being that the film was so bad it’s good. The film (of course) won a bunch of Razzies, and was the subject of mockery and memes before, after, and during its run in theaters. Hell, as soon as the trailer dropped, the film was mocked to death. Not helping was the rushed VFX which, again, was due to the team being under pressure from a draconian idiot who had no idea what he was doing. The film received an unprecedented bug fix, so to speak, in the form of an updated version with slightly better VFX that was shipped to theaters after the initial negative reaction. This obviously did nothing to help the movie’s reputation, of course. Hell, even in my initial review, I wasn’t super keen on the film. Most damning of all, though, was Andrew Lloyd Webber himself calling the film ridiculous, and even said "The problem with the film was that Tom Hooper decided that he didn’t want anybody involved in it who was involved in the original show."

But after ruminating on it, and after watching the film once more, I’ve decided to ask the usual question: Is it really that bad? It’s weird to ask this about a film that’s so new; I usually wait for hindsight to kick in, and look at older films considered bad. But even now, Cats is building up a reputation as a campy cult classic, with such figures as Martin “LittleKuriboh” Billamy watching the film with alarming frequency. And after reading the nightmarish behind the scenes and considering everything… yeah, I think this film deserves a re-evaluation.

This is going to be a little different, though: I’m sort of going to go through the film part by part, since this film has an interesting issue where, generally speaking, the first half is where the worst problems are, and the second half is where things start to pick up. So let’s get the bad out of the way first, then move onto the good.

THE BAD

So, I’m actually not going to pick on the VFX too much, and not just because of the horrible treatment of the VFX artists. In all honesty, the weird human/cat people, while not even remotely as cool as the insane costumes of the stage show, eventually stop being super distracting and kind of just become something you accept. Like, I’m not gonna pretend like this work is amazing, but I dunno, I think it gets harped on too much. There is some stuff that stands out as noticeably bad, though, and we’ll get to that.

A consistent problem with the film that I can’t even try to defend is the problem with the scaling. It’s seriously hard to tell how big these cats are supposed to be in relation to anything else. They honestly seem to change size from scene to scene. It’s seriously weird and baffling and there’s never any way to get a good sense of scale. Even when the cats are alongside mice and roaches, it just boggles the mind what size anything is actually supposed to be.

Mr. Mistoffelees, one of the most flamboyant and enjoyable characters of the stage show, is one of the biggest character issues with the film. Gone is the tricky, confident magician who prances and dances, and here is a meek, sniveling twerp who can barely do anything without tripping over himself. This is because the actor who plays him had a terrible audition that left him miserable due to a lack of singing and dance background. So, rather than find someone who could, you know, sing and dance, they decided to rewrite Mr. Mistoffelees into comic relief, which is just an insulting slap in the face. The cherry on top of course is how they straightwash the character and excise his homoerotic tension with Rum Tum Tugger, instead making him completely and totally straight and giving him a thing for Victoria. Out of everyone in the entire film, they did Mr. Mistoffelees the dirtiest.

Now, let’s get onto the actual “plot.” The film actually starts out fairly well, with some cool shots, good dancing, and some setup for Macavity, whose intro has a neat little nod to the fact he’s based on Moriarty. The issues don’t really start showing up until we reach the first of the Jellicle choices… Jennyanydots.

Jennyanydots is portrayed by Rebel Wilson, which is the first issue. Rebel Wilson is probably one of the worst actresses ever. She is just a horrendously, relentlessly unfunny human being, and she brings that exact quality to her role here. For her song, the vocal talent is secondary to the cringeworthy comedy Wilson puts on display. And yet, somehow, Wilson isn’t the worst part of the scene. No, that would be the horrendous CGI human-faced mice and roaches, which look like they came out of a PS3 game.

This horrendous spectacle is followed up with the appearance of Rum Tum Tugger, portrayed by Jason Derulo. I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, I do think Derulo has the necessary egotistical celebrity swagger to play Rum Tum Tugger (especially when you consider he responded to negative criticisms of the film by calling the movie “one of the greatest pieces of art ever made”) and his design is actually one of the better ones in the film, but on the other hand, his singing and the musical choice for his song are not very impressive and really just doesn’t work all too well. It’s at least something of a step up from Rebel Wilson and her CGI abominations, but that’s not really saying much, is it?

Next up we have Bustopher Jones, played by James Corden and, if I’m being totally honest… he’s not quite as awful as he could be. Corden is basically the male equivalent to Rebel Wilson, but at least while he’s singing he manages to be somewhat amusing, whimsical, and enjoyable even. The problem comes when he throws in jokes, including one where he claims to be self-conscious about his weight… a joke that occurs in the middle of his song where he is bragging about how fat he is. Talk about sending mixed messages. I wish I didn’t have to be so harsh on Bustopher, but sadly he is bogged down by really bad shtick.

Bustopher Jones also highlights a problem with the cats in this first half. These minor roles – Jennyanydots, Rum Tum Tugger, and Bustopher Jones – are all being played by relatively big celebrities, and as such they’re going to want a lot of time to sing. As a result, songs that were ensemble numbers on stage become more one-man songs here, with Bustopher Jones being the most egregious example, turning this positive fat character into a walking James Corden fat joke as he sings his own praises rather than having his praises sung.

Following him up we have Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who are usually fun characters with a fun little pseudo-villain song, but alas, they manage to screw that up by using a slow, jazzy version of the song originally used in earlier London productions rather than the more up-tempo version from later productions, making the song sound awkward and forgettable. Topping it all off is the bargain bin Mr. M popping in at the end for some wacky shenanigans, but at this point, the movie takes a turn towards…

THE GOOD

So as soon as Dame Judi Dench shows up as Old Deuteronomy, the film gets a sort of inverse of what happened at the start. Where the film starts somewhat awkward and promising, it slowly gets stupider and stupider when Rebel Wilson, Jason Derulo, and James Corden botch their scenes in the ways described above. Here, things start a bit shaky and unsure, but Dench is a sign things are about to pick up. What makes her so enjoyable is how, despite how utterly silly things are, she treats her role with the dignity and gravitas of something out of Shakespeare. The only thing as good as an actor in a silly movie like this going full-on ham and cheese is an actor treating their role dead serious and injecting it with such class and dignity you can’t help but enjoy it. Thankfully, Dench isn’t the only person to take her role seriously.

Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella technically appears briefly in the earlier portions of the film, but here we get to hear her belt out “Memory,” and by god does she do a fantastic job. The raw emotion and passion she injects into Grizabella is phenomenal, and it’s even more powerful when it comes back for its reprise in the finale. Victoria gets a sort of response song to “Memory,” called “Beautiful Ghosts,” and it’s a decent song in its own right, but you can tell it was a more modern composition and it just doesn’t gel super well with the rest of the songs. Still, all this is good stuff, and the “Memory”/”Beautiful Ghosts” scene is a nice, refreshing bit of emotion after the incredibly weird and silly extended dance number that is the Jellicle Ball.

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The movie doesn’t stop pulling punches; shortly after Grizabella we are given Gus the theater cat, an elderly actor whose number is all about reminiscing of the old days of theater and his many stellar roles from days gone by. Naturally, the only actor who could possibly perform this role properly is Sir Ian McKellan. I am completely unironic when I say this: This is to McKellan what Patrick Stewart’s performance of Xavier in Logan is. This sounds ridiculous, but think of it: Gus is an aging thespian, clearly a bit senile and desiring to be reborn because he has reached the end of the line, and McKellan fills him with this genuine, incredibly honest performance that really makes you feel emotional. It’s powerful. It feels so personal and resonant, like McKellan has inserted some of his own feelings into his performance, which may very well be the case. Oh, and after his song Macavity kidnaps him with a big autograph book and apparates away while saying his name, which gets me every time.

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And now, my friends, the lord and savior arrives: Skimbleshanks.

This is, hands down, the best scene in the entire film. Everything comes together here: the music is absolutely fantastic, the dancing is choreographed extremely well, and it’s clear that everyone involved is having a blast. This is a concentrated essence of what Cats should be, and it’s really a shame Hooper didn’t understand that this is the energy needed for the entire production. The most crucial element, of course, is Steven McRae, who not only has a lovely singing voice and looks dapper as all hell in his red suspenders, but is a tap dancing maniac. This man has feet of fire, and his tapping adds a whole new layer of fun to the song. Overall, this is a perfect scene, and probably one of my favorite scenes in any film ever. For a brief four minutes, everything about this film works. I literally have no idea why this cat wants to be reincarnated, he is straight balling in this life.

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But the hits don’t stop! Right after this song, Taylor Swift descends from the ceiling, and we get “Macavity.” In the stage productions, this is a song sung by Bombalurina to describe how nasty Macavity is, since she’s traditionally a good cat; here, she’s reimagined as a villain, and so this song is basically her acting as Macavity’s hype man, singing his dastardly praises, and best of all, Macavity joins in at the end! I’m certainly not a Taylor Swift fan, but she really kills it here, and definitely makes this one of the best songs in the movie with her hilariously forced accent and insane energy. It’s just a shame that from here on out Macavity ditches his villainous pimp coat and is now a nude Idris Elba, but I suppose this is equivalent exchange for Skimbleshanks being so amazing.

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While not as incredible as the previous two songs and not quite as good as the stage version due to the removal of the latent homoeroticism, Mr. Mistoffelees’s song is actually okay. It’s nice that he gets to sing his own praises here, but it’s just nothing compared to the stage version, even if it has a fun little finale and it actually is genuinely heartwarming when Old Deuteronomy returns and sings along. It’s a sweet moment that almost makes up for how much Mr. M has sucked the whole movie. Oh, also, all of the Jellicle choices Macavity kidnapped fight back against their captor Growltiger, with Skimbleshanks aggressively tapdancing at him and Gus using his acting skills to make him fall into the Thames. This is so goofy that it wraps back around to being awesome.

The movie winds down in the goofiest way possible after the gorgeous reprise of “Memory,” with Macavity being caught on a big sculpture and apparently running out of magic, leaving him stranded like a regular cat. Then we get one final fourth-wall breaking song where Judi Dench directly addresses the camera that has the music swell up to the point where it seems like the song is ending numerous times without actually ending, and each time is funnier than the last. Really, what better way could you end such a silly film than with this?

Now, a general thing that’s great about the film is the choreography. The dancing in the movie is spectacular. I don’t really have a bad thing to say about it. And, in a broad sense, the music is good too, even if the singers aren’t always perfect, the backing tracks are great, and there’s a lot of fun in the tracks in the latter half of the movie. McRae and Taylor Swift’s contributions in particular are great, and Hudson’s version of “Memory” is incredibly powerful, as is McKellan’s take on Gus’ song.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

No.

Look, it’s hard to be like “Wow this is a fantastic masterpiece of film” or anything like that, because the movie has blatant and evident problems. But this is literally the reason I made this review series; I’m asking if the movie is really as bad as people say, and in this case, no, there’s too much genuinely enjoyable in the film for me to say it’s deserving of several Razzies and a spot on the Bottom 100 of IMDB that places it above Master of Disguise and The Emoji Movie. Like, seriously? This is worse than the 90 minute commercial starring the abusive dick who called a bomb threat on his girlfriend? Hell, this movie is rated worse than Artemis Fowl, which is definitely a contender for the worst film ever made (and amusingly enough also features Judi Dench in it). Artemis Fowl has next to no redeeming qualities in it, and it certainly doesn’t have Skimbleshanks, whereas Cats has several fun scenes and also has Skimbleshanks.

I definitely think there’s more of an argument for this film being so bad it’s good or camp at best, but it’s definitely more enjoyable than you’d think it would be. If you can learn to live with the weird CGI, it’s a fun, goofy romp that you might find yourself feeling for at times. After my second watch, I have to say… I’ve started to unironically enjoy this movie. It might even be one of my favorites of all time. I can’t even deny that it has a lot of stuff I don’t like, and it falls flat in a lot of ways the 1998 film soars, and it screwed up some of my favorite characters… but there are so many moments where the fun and heart of Cats shines through brighter than it has any right to, and all the failures of Hooper and Universal seem distant for a just a few minutes.

So yeah, is this movie good all around? No way. But is it fun, does it have value, and is there more redeeming qualities than the critics let on? Oh yes there is.

#Is it really that bad #IIRTB #review #movie review #Cats #Cats 2019 #Andrew Lloyd Webber #musical #so bad it's good #Tom Hooper #Judi Dench #Rebel Wilson #James Corden #Jason Derulo #Taylor Swift #Idris Elba #Sir Ian McKellan #Steven McRae

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quicktelling-blog · 5 years

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Amira’s Vanished Hustle, Perceptions of Missed Opportunities, and What Everyone Should Consider About the Story So Far

[deep dive under the cut]

Some messages I got over the weekend were along the lines of: “No Damira again on Friday whew you must be heartbroken huh?” But, y’all, I wasn’t surprised. And to be completely honest, my reaction on Friday was very different from the ones I saw in the tag. Yeah, I was super happy for the adorable Amira and I was also side-eying the glaring absence of Carlos’s besties at his own housewarming -- but my main thought after the clip was: “LOL OH SHIT HERE WE GO.” Because in my mind Friday was an ENORMOUS RED FLAG that the only substantial thing left to do in Amira’s story arc is the cute Bon Voyage party to send her off on her dream trip. Even before this big POV shift happened, Druck hadn’t given us any reason to expect much more than that in her remaining plot, and I’ll elaborate on that here.

I don’t wanna jump to the conclusion that Druck can’t possibly stick the landing, because hey, they might! We have no clear idea what will happen between now and the final goodbye party, so maybe good things are coming that will subvert all of our worst imaginings! But I feel like this is a hinge point in the season to do a little reassessing of expectations... and to come clean about one big reason why I’ve mostly spoken superficially about this season up until now.

The very first red flag, for me, was when I realized Druck was planning to basically pretend Amira never had a job. That oversight might not seem like a big deal to most, and it’s not like her job was the first thing Druck ever made disappear unceremoniously (remember when Leonie and Sara had other close girl friends? lol) but to me it was a signal that my expectations for Amira’s story (based on her previous strong characterization) had maybe been too high. And I immediately felt a bit cheated.

Amira was already so fleshed out coming into her season. She was demanding, quick-witted, and nurturing. She was fiercely protective of her friends, and even more fiercely ambitious, with a willingness to work harder than anyone to get ahead in life. She was sunny but tough-shelled, with a well-established resistance to trusting any men. And, loving her as much as I do, I felt strongly that she deserved to have plenty of brand new story elements that reflected all those things. To have her own story shaped around her, rather than she herself being reshaped to fit Sana’s story.

But then it was finally her turn to shine, in a Summer season, when it would make perfect sense for her to be on a job grind to earn cash for her trip, and... she’s not working? Huh? She managed to work all through a tough school year, but not her free summer vacation? Why? Because of Druck’s low budget? Because they lacked cohesion in the writing process? Some combination of the two? Yikes. Who knows. But suddenly, nonsensically, they had flushed away the perfect framing to showcase her work ethic, her daily perseverance, and her varied interactions (good and bad) with lots of strange customers around Berlin.

It felt like a bad omen to me somehow. Which wasn’t a great mindset to start the season with. And that was the beginning of me trying very, very hard not to be confused and salty about every little thing I began to perceive as missed opportunities to give Amira a new kind of substance in her story.

For example: While David, Matteo, and Sam began having fun off-screen, working on an bold alien movie, Amira inexplicably had no involvement. She kinda scoffed at the idea when it came up on-screen, then immediately lost interest in the conversation because her man was texting. Fair enough, right? That scene was moving her story forward while generously giving a little shoutout to the meta insta storyline, right? The problem is: the off-screen story ended up seeming much more interesting than watching Amira chilling on her own texting a bunch, and we weren’t even given a reason for her to not be part of it after the whole crew was invited to join in. Imagine if we had followed her onto a shitty little makeshift movie set and seen her reacting to the chaos and strangeness of it. Imagine her finding a resourceful solution to a production hiccup or mediating a creative disagreement while trying to hide her own inner turmoil from her friends. And imagine her having an extremely important conversation with David (and/or Matteo and/or Sam) about the film’s deeper themes of alienation and otherness that they can both sadly relate to.

That’s just one weirdly specific scenario, but there are sooo many other ways I fantasized about Amira bonding with her friends (particularly the ones who aren’t cishet white kids or brand new characters). Talking with one or more of them about what it means to be dangerously marginalized, or to be afraid of letting someone get close to you, or to feel torn in two different directions in life. Maybe something like that could still happen before the season ends, but I’m not counting on it. And I think the time has passed for it to have the biggest impact. It could’ve been amazing (and really narratively useful!) if it happened before the resolution of Amira’s brief conflicts with Kiki, Erva, and Mohammed. We saw a lot of scenes with her looking angry and sad, but we weren’t really privy to much of her thought process during all that reflection, so it felt uncomfortably unearned when problems she once saw as insurmountable were shortly waved aside. I would’ve really appreciated even a short conversation with some good change-of-heart exposition.

And while other people were cheering about all the controversial Sana season conflicts being blessedly truncated or completely stripped away, the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking: “Okay, awesome, but what are they gonna replace that storyline with? Nothing?” And, for the most part, that seemed to be true.

But the problem clearly wasn’t limited to a shortage of well-integrated story threads with Amira at their center. It was arguably also a failure to capitalize on the stories they did use. Instead of getting to watch the emotional fight with her mother about punching someone, and witnessing Amira faced with the threat of losing Australia, we only heard about the drama afterward. Just like we only heard about her family’s religious holiday together. Just like we only got a few texts between Amira and Jonas about the refugee event. And just like how, as I sat typing this, Amira’s mother re-blessed the trip off-screen. On and on goes the list of examples of this unfortunate tell-don’t-show approach, and I’m sure a lot of it can be attributed to low budget and tricky cast scheduling, but the time limit excuse probably doesn’t apply if Amira’s main plot really has been efficiently pared down to 7 episodes.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to reserve final judgment on the season until the credits roll, and there are plenty of good things to say about it in the meantime. Yes, it’s been lovely to see so many gorgeous shots of Tua praying, and boxing, and expressing everything from attraction to anguish to helpless rage. Yes, she and Hassan both did some really strong work selling the magnetic pull between their characters, even in the face of (what I consider to be) an underdeveloped narrative that didn’t totally sell me on the relationship overall. Yes, it was wonderful to have some aesthetically pleasing scenes of the girl squad loving and supporting each other, even if they mostly talked about boys the way Amira hoped they wouldn’t. And obviously just having a story about a strong, kind, devoted hijabi girl is vitally important visibility. So I really haven’t wanted to say anything negative in the face of all that...

... but now I have to say: if you’re feeling cheated and mad about the POV shift, then take some time to consider what else specifically you think should’ve happened to Amira before we entered this resolution phase of her story. It seemed like most people were perfectly happy for her to not face any complex conflict, and not have any lingering hardship to dramatically and triumphantly overcome. Every obstacle getting a relatively swift and easy solution felt underbaked to me, but it was a big relief and source of praise for most people in the tags right up until Amira disappeared from clips. So: in hindsight, how would you have added not just length, but also more compelling drama and greater social impact to her story, so that the extra length felt well-used? It’s really worth thinking and talking about that, even if you’re hesitant to voice any criticism of Amira’s part of the story (even after the season ends, and even if it’s totally constructive) -- because thinking and talking about it is how we’ll get that kind of richer, fuller story in the future.

#druck #amira thalia mahmood #representation #storytelling #amira baby i love you and you deserve the world okay #that's been at the core of my issues all season

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unproduciblesmackdown · 5 years

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just to throw together a bunch of Things I’m Thinking abt bmc...

Upgrade is the “song most likely to be in my head” lately and yknow i appreciate the glimpses we get of what can be good abt jake/christine and brooke/jeremy—even if the latter does have that slight issue of as soon as you’re deciding to use a potential relationship as a “stepping stone”...that’s Bad—and the different sides we get to see of all the characters in those moments

somehow even tho the 1st thing jere’s squip does is tell him he should hate himself to the point of being suicidal and by the time the play rolls around jeremy has outright recognized it as An Antagonist to him, when it says “you stupid human” i’m like aw man...cmon buddy.....that hurts :(

i cherish the halloween couch scene just.....ya love to see how the fact that jeremy has been reliant on the squip’s prompts long enough that he’s kinda forgotten how to filter himself like he used to hence how he ends up Making A Noise instead of trying to pretend he’s got it together or whatevs......but then christine is like lol yeah i feel that lmfao i really cherish them thx

reading someone pointing out how even tho jeremy is technically accepted into The Popular Kids by the time the party rolls around, he still is not at all the center of attention or anything, and for me that was like Ah Yes True cuz like....rich has had one for several years but he’s not the center of attention or anything either, clearly jake is p much the unofficial center of that whole group, whereas rich just kinda remains in his gravitational circle and goes with the flow of the rest of the group. so like with that and with jeremy not being Standout and with the pitiful children / play stuff, i think its p evident that squips don’t want to make you The Best or anything, and in fact probably want to avoid that, and they’re just focused on maximizing social cohesion / minimizing conflict

imo from that ol doylian perspective i don’t think there’s supposed to be a canon answer for where squips really come from or what their True Purpose is, so while i like to think abt that shit i don’t think about it in a “there’s an Official Answer hidden here somewhere,” more like maybe just official suggestions...like the space aliens theme in the play has got to be a Suggestion, but for me frankly i just like the idea that it’s maybe really just some experimental tech &/or something kinda sinister like some hushed commissioned project intended for military application but not used and the tech leaks out and ends up in a high school in nj......i mean overall i don’t think they’re meant to be Evil and their intent isn’t destructive. rich’s squip possibly implies that the “Expand The Network” idea is inherently programmed in as an Objective from the start, but also it might just basically be the inevitable but independent conclusion of every squip. i think it’s more interesting if they really are just trying to Maximize Cohesion / Minimize Conflict, but also overall it really doesn’t matter what their origin / true intent is one way or another

i know that when the squip walks away when jeremy is arguing w his dad its so its Very Clear that it’s jeremy operating outside its influence, but its just really funny like the idea that it might wanna wander around looking at objet d’art to entertain itself......also somehow even tho i Made The Connection i never thought on it till the other day how jeremy’s sarcastic “good talk” callback shows how he’s like bitterly storing things away....i do really like how he has this sort of projected resentment re his dad and yknow, the frustrations that jeremy doesn’t wanna acknowledge he has cuz he wants to say / tell himself he’s okay with things being shitty but he’s not. big mood jere!!

thinking on things i’ve tweeted: i like that fight mode jeremy has idling animation

i’d lose my shit for hq pitiful children content. it’s way too much.

i could go on, so i won’t lol

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mdarwin · 4 years

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Of Your Life - Fall 2019

Of Your Life

Adapted from Pavement’s “Shady Lane/J Vs. S” from their 1997 album Brighten the Corners

Actually, eating anything at this point might do too much damage. There’s the ulcer and the bloating, two completely separate issues presenting a relentless challenge across their respective territories in my body. I’m walking the line between showing them my body and hiding my body from them and they already know that’s what I do, so my stomach is both there and not there depending on how endeared they are to my prerogatives. If I grab something -- anything -- the bloat will find its way to the shrouded beast, and if I don’t, I’ll be unable to speak or breathe or move comfortably because of the acid shooting up the tubes in the hearth of my body as the world sees my body. The breasts, the face, the front of me at eye level. Underneath those things, a raucous party. No one was invited but it’s not dying down.

I used to be pure.

But I have Tums and they’ll have coffee set up so I’ll sneak a splash of liquid dairy pretending not to be a freak and it’ll quiet down. Maybe the discomfort has come to be too close to a home, comfort itself, for me to eviscerate it so thoughtlessly; maybe this burn, these nerves, maybe this is where I live.

I’m here.

I sign in for the doorman and the time stamp is eleven minutes earlier than I had needed to be here. The elevator is both fast and nice and so I hope no one else gets on, because they would look me up and down and wonder if I’m homeless since I don’t know how to dress for SoHo and if I did know how to dress for SoHo I might still refuse to do it. But I remain alone because the elevator is fast and as I step out I wonder if I would even want the elevator at home to be so nice, or if I need things to be ugly and faulty to be at ease after all these years in earnest spaces.

I don’t struggle; I withdraw.

On the eighth floor, I get to a bathroom, Tums, a little setting powder (these lies I tell myself). I check my hair. It’s so sad but they already know that’s how it is and so my ugly hair, my ugly hair is fine and so, and so I follow the signs through the labyrinthine hallway all taped a bit cockeyed to the walls until I see the final “CASTING” on the door, and I open the door, and I walk through the door, and I’m in the door, and I’m here.

I don’t know when to photograph my life; too much seems momentous or too little.

There are three grey couches along the walls of the sunlit waiting room and two gunmetal sculptures of ovals approximating people, one in the middle of the room and one in the corner between two of the couches. I sign in without a word or even much of a glance at the thin brunette in her affected and prematurely exhausted importance sitting behind the desk set back from the wait and I take a seat closest to her. Do they know I love authority, any authority? I’m thinking about who might have been in this room earlier today, yesterday, tomorrow, and how close this production is getting to the truth and Ray flashes through my mind, Rafa, Holland and Anita, Tony. I picture their typecasts filling the room, a bunch of surly, balding brown bears filling the couches or maybe eight year olds with impossibly long twin braids; every one-legged mom-aged actor in the tri-state area. I’m thinking, I’m thinking about how close these casting directors are getting to the people who have populated my life and then I’m thinking, then I’m thinking about how close the people who have populated my life have been to me. There are distances, probably, that are getting close-ups in this thing. I picture a Sarah K. type filling this room, blonde crowns bent over magazines, and even though I am grown now, intimidation sets in as I envy the size they’d all be, their grooming, the way none of their nails are misshapen and all ten of them fit cohesively on the ends of unchewed fingers. I fail to sink into myself as I remember how Sarah seemed to hijack the backwards allure of my glasses, appropriating it onto the health and blasé wealth of Central Park West, and how her simple hair always did what she wanted it to do, which was nothing but shine. And I snap back into the room and into myself when it finally strikes me as absurd that I’m the one who would pretend to not be obsessed with these girls, these actors who want to be cast as Sarah as much as I want to be cast as anyone, anyone, in my life.

I am of these tiny little uses.

I am myself so I pull out something productive -- I highlight Michael Pollan. It’s about cattle. I remember the potential for dairy to quiet my insides and I take a look around. It’s skim milk next to the coffee machine, which doesn’t help me much. I think, you’d think they’d know, but at least the cups are biodegradable.

Sometimes I am on fire.

I’m reading, yeah, sure, I’m reading this section where he could get elitist but doesn’t, but I’m zoning out and I’m thinking about how the conversation with my agent later today is going to go. I know when I plan these future conversations it belittles the actual because it doesn’t matter where I go, I don’t know beforehand that for some reason I’m going to bring up Vermont, or O Brother Where Art Thou, or how rum cures colds. The actual is only vaguely predictable and I attach myself to its precursor, imagination. If it were up to me I’d stick to the fake talks and get fed through a tube, because the world I can touch is disappointing 73% of the time, I found recently, but what I stand before is a casting call I was born for and if I didn’t show up to this audition in front of these real people before retreating again to my apartment lit only by small lamps, never overhead lights, I’d kick myself for losing out on material to tell people when I imagine that I’m having conversations with them.

Reflection, self-fetish, auto-fetish, meta-fetish, reflection.

A door past the desk to my left opens and I immediately make an effort to slow my heart rate. There’s a put-together woman with a ponytail and a premium tee shirt holding a clipboard standing in the doorway and she looks at her clipboard and then up and she says my name with a question mark at the end and I nod and she turns for me to follow her. I pick up my tote bag and reflexively continue the movement to awkwardly smooth my skirt over my thighs and just hope that if she is paying attention she’s already gotten the note about the strange way that I design my outfits and also that she excuses me for the sight of my legs, and finally that she won’t ask me to bend over for anything. I think they know, I think. They have to know.

In truth, I can handle anything.

So now I’m in a bright room, a bright room with mirrored walls and there are four people at the folding table facing a lone chair. None of them have ever met me, not even Mr. Moody, who should have met me. I access cheer and introduce myself and second from the left at the table, a Mr. Clean type, he ignores me to lean over and asks Ponytail, “Is this the…” and she tells him yes without looking at me, and once they’ve all heard that they look up from their papers and each other to face me and with a regulation boredom Mr. Clean says, “Hey, great to meet you. So did…” he scans my resume for Bernard’s name and continues, “Bernard tell you what you’re up for here?” I nod yes as I sit. Mr. Clean tells me with a reference in absentium to comedy, “No small roles, right? So in this scene we have the, uh, the…” he looks around and goes for it, “the you-character, you know, she’s doing pretty well right now, she’s this stellar student and she’s kind of leaving that, uh, that stuff from ’08 and ’09 behind, you know, she barely remembers that, and then Howard--” Ponytail cuts in, “Your dad,” she says and I nod that I have absorbed that it is accurate that my father’s name is Howard and Mr. Clean says, “Right, your dad, he’s like wracked with worry about you all the time still because he, well, you know what, actually, how would you say this, yourself?”

I have been more than lucky.

“Oh, thanks so much for asking,” I breathe out in what is almost a laugh, and maybe I flush a little, and I bring my hand to that hearth of my cleavage, which is a not entirely unsurreptitious display of modesty. “Um, I guess he was just really at a loss about what to do with such a sick kid, when he’d insisted for so long that nothing was wrong, and maybe avoiding the idea that I might, um, traipse into his territory with the… the death-drugs,” I cast my eyes around in apology for the uncouth mention of dirt in this room and they first land on Ponytail, whose eyes are on her phone screen, and then on Mr. Clean, who’s leaning back with his hand to his chin and he nods and motions for me to get to the point and so I continue, “Actually, I don’t know if this is useful for you but he -- he told me the other day that he hadn’t ever known that I had done that much cocaine in ’07, so he was always sort of --” I’m cut off by the tall, severe woman in what could easily be men’s clothes to the left of Mr. Clean, and her mid-Atlantic accent adds to the Tilda Swinton vibe when she says, “Actually, that doesn’t help us and it might be best if we just, erm… stay away from that sort of, er, retroactive speculation with new information. I mean, it’s not like this is a, a vanity project, dear.” All four of them laugh.

I am an island like you are an island and you are an island.

Mr. Moody, bald black pate hedged by grey fuzz, shuffles some papers and doesn’t look at me but gives me the relief of saying, “Okay, so he’s clearly got a different approach to all this than Rose, sort of out of touch with the reality of it. And what we have in this scene is that he’s walking on, what is it, 9th street, and he sees Margaret, the doppelganger.” Moody is focused, looking up at me now and he sees past my invalidity the most of the four, he sees me in front of him and I’m more or less like everyone else in my determination to keep moving and he knows that, and he knows. “So she’s just standing there on the corner, and he sees her and he thinks you’re ignoring him and he gets in her face and shouts at her but it takes him… what, about a full minute or so for him to really process that it’s not you. He thinks it’s you and that you’re out of it, but it’s him that’s unhinged here… and it’s sort of everybody’s own cross to bear, the negotiation of you coming back to reality and just really being here finally like everyone, and also their understanding of what it is to have been here in reality in the first place, while you were gone.”

It’s not my movement that’s looked to, but where I land.

The other three have been looking at Moody and nodding as he says this but then Ponytail faces me and she asks if I can answer some questions about 2011. She says it’s to test the waters of how accurate we can make the scene to Howard’s perception, and she makes a joke about being old, about how long ago 2011 was, but I’m breathing low in my body just like I have in all moments and 2011 is still happening, and it is happening, and it is, and in my insistent consistency, it’s reliable and can’t be stopped.

Time is everybody’s.

I say sure and first she asks me, “Did you look at your passing reflection in windows?” “No,” I say. “Did you smoke?” “Uh… yes, yes I did.” “Were you in love?” “No.” This gives her pause and she looks at Moody and then at Tilda and Tilda leans forward and asks, “What sacrifices did you make that year?”

I had given everything I had, already.

I wonder for a noticeable amount of time what it was that my dad saw that day, that I had, in their words, sacrificed, that was somehow also palpable in Margaret. I stop myself, though. What did I sacrifice in 2011? I haven’t worked in so long and I need this part so fucking bad. But then I think of myself and my success at being in broad strokes and this is different from considering what answer they want because this is one of those times I honor the actual instead of the movement that I hope for and maybe that’s why they’re here, maybe this whole thing is an honorific, it’s the ways I am somehow so good at being. This is how I look when I’m honest. Slowly I say, “I started to lose pride. It took a few years to gain anything from that.” And all four of them immediately look down to the table to write a note on whatever paper is in front of them but while they’re still writing I realize how to get the part and instead of being good at being I say, “You could see it in my… in my spine.”

There has never been solitude; manifestation is endlessly dependent.

Now they’ve all looked back up at me again and no one says anything for a minute. Then I ask, “Would you like me to uh -- did you want me to read anything?” Tilda leans forward like a praying mantis to hold out a few pages off the table that had been in front of her just under her notes and my resume. I get up and reach forward to take it, return to my seat, I look at it. It’s an essay. Margaret wrote it. It’s on Jaruwan Sakulku. I take a quick few seconds to scan the first and last lines, then read it aloud with few intonation or emphatic hesitations. I slow down towards the conclusion. I give Margaret’s emerged thesis weight and sobriety. I read the last line to the four of them, and see that none of them are engaged. They’re leaning back in their seats, eyes drooping a bit and at one point while I had been reading they were passing a menu around. I breathe out all the air I’ve been budgeting.

I breathe.

Mr. Clean says, “Okay, thank you” and the four of them are rising again from their four slouches and they’re waking up from being in a room with me like I have been a blanket or a short night and fresh air has come in and I wonder what they think of the plot and I wonder what they think of me.

I am not my life.

Tilda leans forward and nods at Ponytail and Ponytail gets up to open the door back out to the waiting room and I say “I can do it again -- do you want me to do it again?” but she’s looking at the door and not at me and she says “We’ll be calling people Monday. Thanks for coming in” and I have my bag on my shoulder and I have my skirt smoothed on my thighs and as I pass through the doorway into the waiting room I see a room full of swarthy half-jewish girls who are 5’3” and 250 lbs with ugly hair, ugly hair, and thick, plastic-framed glasses in front of small, deep-set eyes. Ponytail calls out to the room as I head to the hallway, “Chloe? We’re ready for you” and one of these girls with whom I just finished competing stands up and picks up her bag and smooths her skirt over her thighs and she walks towards Ponytail and the door and the spaces I have left for her. She doesn’t notice me as she walks through her own nerves into the audition for the small part in the movie.

The outsides collide with the insides and I am some small thing in the waves.

I am some small thing in the waves.

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mutualfriendsrecords-blog · 6 years

Text

Here’s an interview we did with Grady Philip Drugg back in April.

Keeping up with Grady Philip Drugg

Today I’m talking with Grady Philip Drugg about his upcoming release “Art Is Supposed To Be Fun!”. I met Grady for the first time a few months ago. He’d been living in Austin for over half a year and we’d finally found the time to link up. He’s been a great friend since and I’m super hyped to be able to talk with him about this new release.

MF: Hey Grady, thanks for talking with us today!

GD: No problem boyo, glad to do it.

MF: Tell us about your upcoming album release.

GD: Okay. What do you wanna know about it?

MF: When is it coming out? Where can we find it?

GD: It’ll be out April 21st via Deep Sea Records. You can actually already pre-order it through their site. (http://deepsearecords.limitedrun.com/) Otherwise, you can get one from me at a show. I’ll be on tour in mid July and I’ll have em with me.

MF: That’s exciting, where are you going on your tour?

GD: Lawrence, KS

Columbia, MO

Springfield, MO

Fayetteville, AR

Oklahoma City, OK

Denton, TX

Lafayette, LA

Austin, TX

Still need a gig for Denton, TX so if anyone wants to help me out, hit me up haha.

MF: So, how might this album differ from some of the others that we’ve heard from you?

GD: It’s all over the place. Everyone who has heard it agrees that it’s way different from my last release. First off, half was recorded on my 4 track and half was recorded in my friend’s studio. I think the songs are better on this one, definitely… The last album was a bunch of pop filler stuff that I did for fun, which is cool, but as far as actual songwriting goes, it wasn’t the best.

This new one, I encourage everyone to have a sit-down listen because I definitely intended for it to be one cohesive thing. I wanted the formats of recording to emphasize the emotional feel of each song, so we tried to transition each one so that the analog tracks and digital tracks didn’t sound too weird… I really like it. I’m proud of this record.

MF: That’s really exciting! I’m hyped to hear it.

GD: Thanks man, I’m excited for it to finally be out haha.

MF: Are we going to be hearing any of the new songs at the Planned Parenthood benefit show?

GD: Definitely, yes.

MF: Can you tell us about your current guitar rig?

GD: As far as guitars, I’m really into oddball vintage stuff. My main guitar right now is a 1967 Alamo Fury, which is sort of like a Danelectro type deal. It was made to be a student guitar… Also, it was made in San Antonio back it the day, so that’s cool. My other one is a 1976 SD Curlee, which is more like a poor man’s Travis Bean. It screams Jerry Garcia to me.

For my amp, I just got a 65 Princeton reissue which is really cool, I’ve always wanted one. Love that low wattage breakup. My bass player has a Vox AC30 that he uses in his studio and sometimes I’ll run that in stereo with my Princeton.

Unfortunately the Alamo guitar will not be making an appearance at any shows in the near future because I cut the shit out of my finger a few days ago and the SD Curlee is just much easier to play because it’s like a shredder guitar and it has super low action.

MF: I can’t wait to hear it all in action. So you moved to Austin about 7 months ago right?

GD: Shit, actually I think in two weeks it’ll be a year!

MF: Holy heck, time is fucked up.

GD: Dude I know hahahah.

MF: Anyway, how was your move from Springfield? How’ve you been liking Austin?

GD: Definitely digging Austin, TX over Springfield, MO. Not that I don’t have mad love for Springfield. But while Springfield is definitely home for a lot of my closest friends, it’s mostly inhabited by shitty republican meth people. At least that’s the impression I got, but I worked jobs that kind of gravitated towards that demographic, I guess.

By the way, Springfield really was the meth capital of the world for a time, so I’m not just hatin’.

MF: I know what you mean, that can be really hard to escape. I’m glad you like it here. Let’s talk about that OG steak n’ shake in downtown springfield!

GD: Yes, let’s.

MF: Oh and the mix!

GD: Haha I never really frequented the Mix. I know our dude Alex Harris is a fan.

MF: I’ve been to Springfield once in my life. It was my first time meeting Alex or being there. We went to The Mix for karaoke and $1 Budweiser on tap. It was a wild night.

GD: Hahaha yeah, that sounds like an Alex night. Alex is a fun guy to party with. I never really frequented a whole lot of bars, really, but we used to have some fun together, definitely.

MF: While we’re on the subject, didn’t you and Alex used to play in a band together?

GD: Yeah, we totally did! For those who don’t know, Alex and I played together in Grammer. Actually, when Grammer split, Alex and our singer Maxx went on to form a new band called Turf, and our guitarist Dakota and I went on to form Importer/Exporter. Alex and I also had a little project for a second called Ghost Bike, so go check that out. We’ve been meaning to record new music forever but we’ve just never gotten around to it.

https://grammercomma.bandcamp.com

https://importer-exporter.bandcamp.com

https://ghostbike417.bandcamp.com

(Turf doesn’t have anything on bandcamp yet)

And by the way, I don’t know when Turf’s new record is coming out, but it’s fantastic. They recorded it with Jonathan from Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin and he always does an incredible job.

MF: How would you say the Austin scene differs from that of Springfield’s?

GD: Austin’s scene seems more like a bunch of different scenes, whereas Springfield’s was definitely more unified. That being said, there were a lot of petty little cliques and people who didn’t like each other, so I won’t say it’s better by any means.

I feel like in Austin, everyone is kind of just doing their own thing, so you’re free to do yours. I dig it.

MF: Tell us about your PBR tattoo

GD: Haha I don’t really drink a whole lot anymore so I have kind of a strained nostalgia about it. I have a tattoo of a grim reaper with sunglasses smoking a cigarette that says “pbr youth” but that’s kind of a joke about the Grammer boys and our extended family. We jokingly referred to ourselves as the PBR youth crew.

MF: I love it.

GD: Haha thanks man

MF: You mentioned that this album is more of a “sit down” type album – Can you tell us a little about your writing process and the inspiration behind some of these songs?

GD: I think this one is going back to the kind of songwriting I was about before I put out my self titled. If you listen to my first EP Great Lands, or even my very first demo, all the songs are almost entirely lyric based. Like I said, the self titled just happened as a fun project. As far as the subject matter, I think I talk a lot about facing fears, leaving home, love, goofy stuff like that. But the biggest thing I think comes from this song, Pretending is Stupid. There’s one line where I say, “Why should I pretend to like what I don’t like? Just to be a cool guy and pick fights?” That comes from people in the music scene ousting others because they don’t like the right bands or wear the right clothes. I think that shit is wack. Art is for everybody. And even if your intention is to make something grotesque and disorienting, it should feel good to make. You shouldn’t feel like you have to make a certain kind of thing because other people don’t think it’s cool. Art is supposed to be fun.

MF: I couldn’t agree more. So with the exception of your tour, what’s next for you? (As a musician or as a person)

GD: At the moment, I’m just focusing on finishing up this semester of college. Then in June I’m actually going into a big studio to record a few new songs for an EP or a single or something. I don’t know when that’s gonna come out, but I’m excited. I think I’m gonna use my band on the session and we’re gonna record the bulk of it live, which will be nice, because I usually play everything myself.

MF: I’m glad we could talk. Thanks so much for your time Grady!

GD: Yup, thank you!

Make sure to catch Grady Philip Drugg at Beerland on April 25th and to watch the video for I Fear So Deeply.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Art Is Supposed To Be Fun! is now available at:

www.deepsearecords.limitedrun.com

Cover: Christopher Knisley

#grady philip drugg #deep sea records #mutual friends records #art is supposed to be fun!

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